Scenarios - A Collection of Nameless Detective Stories by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online Page A

Now, what about Private Detective and the name of the killer?"
    "The clue Murray left us there is a little more roundabout," I said. "But you've got to remember that he was dying and that he only had time to grab those magazines that were handy. He couldn't tell us more directly who he believed was responsible."
    "Go on," he said, "I'm listening."
    "Murray collected pulp magazines, and he obviously also read them. So he knew that private detectives as a group are known by all sorts of names—shamus, op, eye, snooper." I allowed myself a small, wry smile. "And one more, just as common."
    "Which is?"
    "Peeper," I said.
    He considered that. "So?"
    " Eb , Murray also collected every other kind of popular culture. One of those kinds is prints of old television shows. And one of your suspects is a small, mousy guy who wears thick glasses; you told me that yourself. I'd be willing to bet that some time ago Murray made a certain obvious comparison between this relative of his and an old TV show character from back in the fifties, and that he referred to the relative by that character's name."
    "What character?"
    "Mr. Peepers," I said. "And you remember who played Mr. Peepers, don't you?"
    "Well, I'll be damned," he said. "Wally Cox."
    "Sure. Mr. Peepers—the cousin, Walter Cox."
    At eight o'clock that night, while I was working on a beer and reading a 1935 issue of Dime Detective, Eberhardt rang up my apartment. "Just thought you'd like to know," he said. "We got a full confession out of Walter Cox about an hour ago. I hate to admit it—I don't want you to get a swelled head—but you were right all the way down to the Mr. Peepers angle. I checked with the housekeeper and the niece before I talked to Cox, and they both told me Murray called him by that name all the time."
    "What was Cox's motive?" I asked.
    "Greed, what else? He had a chance to get in on a big investment deal in South America, and Murray wouldn't give him the cash. They argued about it in private for some time, and three days ago Cox threatened to kill him. Murray took the threat seriously, which is why he started locking himself in his Rooms while he tried to figure out what to do about it.
    "Where did Cox get the piece of steel?"
    "Friend of his has a basement workshop, builds things out of wood and metal. Cox borrowed the workshop on a pretext and used a grinder to hone the weapon. He rigged up the slingshot this morning—let himself into the house with his key while the others were out and Murray was locked in one of the Rooms."
    "Well, I'm glad you got it wrapped up and glad I could help."
    "You're to be even gladder when the niece talks to you tomorrow. She says she wants to give you some kind of reward."
    "Hell, that's not necessary."
    "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth—to coin a phrase. Listen, I owe you something myself. You want to come over tomorrow night for a home-cooked dinner and some beer?"
    "As long as it's Dana who does the home cooking," I said.
    After we rang off I thought about the reward from Murray's niece. Well, if she wanted to give me money I was hardly in a financial position to turn it down. But if she left it up to me to name my own reward, I decided I would not ask for money at all; I would ask for something a little more fitting instead.
    What I really wanted was Thomas Murray's run of Private Detective .

Dead Man's Slough
     
    I was halfway through one of the bends in Dead Man's Slough, on my way back to the Whiskey Island marina with three big Delta catfish in the skiff beside me, when the red-haired man rose up out of the water at an islet fifty yards ahead.
    It was the last thing I expected to see and I leaned forward, squinting through the boat's Plexiglas windscreen. The weather was full of early-November bluster—high overcast and a raw wind—and the water was too cold and too choppy for pleasure swimming. Besides which, the red-haired guy was fully dressed in khaki trousers and a short-sleeved bush jacket.
    He came